


I take a hammer and I break my legs

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Bullying, Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Depression, Devpai protection members don't interact, Dissociation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fun fact: I haven't slept in twenty four hours, Kidnapping, Other, Uhhhhhh I think that's all idk, au where the rivals ghosts haunts ayano, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-22 05:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11960457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: Yeah, I break them for the betterThe two of them were always walking me into the stormy weather





	1. I bet you don't feel lighter

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of these posts: https://ayano-vs-dev.tumblr.com/post/164791624975/kizana-droama-what-i-think-would-be-cool-in
> 
> https://rival-chan-against-yanderedev.tumblr.com/post/164823097919/willosanaevercome-twinktaro-twinktaro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did it wrong, so there's a little left over, no, there's a lot left over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, when starting this: this is gonna be humor
> 
> My traumatized emo ass: imao bitch you thought—

Ayano aishi hates the ghosts that ran their fingers threw her hair and told her she'd be alright.

Despite what her mother says, sweetness lacing her words that obliterates her heart, a grenade slipping from her fingers, just like everything else has, as she repeats those words to her reflection, she wasn't just drifting without meaning, feeling, purpose. She shouldn't die, really, really—she tells herself this as her reflection shakes, and laughs in her face. She felt things, to much, to much until she went numb, and broke. Someone sighs behind her, and she glares. She looks beautiful in her moms diamonds and jewels, someone whispers, but her mom isn't there, she's somewhere far, now, covering up crimes she pretends she didn't commit with her dad in toe, always following her. The room is oppressively empty.

She really hated those spirits, and the soft, gentle, lies they spewed out like vomit, grating on their throat; acid.

 

 

 

  
She wonders how her dad, with the gentle smile turned flinch when her mom came to his side, is doing. She decides she rather not know.

 

 

 

 

Girls she's never met have haunted her, sin and blood on her hands that she didn't put there, not yet, not yet. Everything is mundane. Midori is talking, but she can't focus, a new ghost, a older man, in her head scream to be let go, let me go, let me go, _I have a daughter she needs me I need to make it up to her pleas_ e—

She says nothing. Midori looks at her concerned.

 

 

 

Taro is sitting in front of her. She's never took notice of him, before, but he stands out today. He's glancing at the clock as if time could go faster if he just looked, fiddling in his set. He obviously has something to do, she thinks, but decides she doesn't care, and goes on like it inconsequential.

Only when taro runs smack into her does she remember he exists.

 

 

 

He stays. She fell, when he ran into her, but he stays to help her. She realizes that no one except midori has ever done that, stay with her, not blame her. The realization is jolting, if she's honest, which she's not, so she pretends she knew it all along.

 

 

She stalks him.

The ghosts are worried. She scoffs; what do they know? They're dead.

 

  
“You know, you could learn a lot from the dead. They know what not to do. And this is definitely falls under what not to do.”

She says nothing.

 

 

A girl texts her and the newest ghost whispers an unfamiliar name laced with sorrow like the poison in vodka he used to drink.

 

  
There's a girl in her basement, scared shitless, bright eyes dulled, blonde hair hanging over her face in terror. She records her, and sends it to the ones tying kokona up with noses made of dept, a father who she's pretty sure isn't only crying, because of he was, why would she answer her letter about abuse? The girl screams, along with the ghosts who were more mother to her than her own, but she doesn't think she cares.

She doesn't think she's a good person anymore. She doesn't think she ever was.

 

 

  
Bodies pile up.

Her mom's ghosts are silent, now. The others won't stop speaking.

 

  
“Well, aren’t you going to kill them? They’d be a nice addition to the afterlife.”

“Shut up, osana.”

  
She asks oka what to do about ghosts haunting her, and she looks at her. It's as if she sees the pain of the ones she's killed, feel their malicious. The thing about ghosts, she says, is that they only latch on to who do them wrong.

Oka looks her dead in the eye and tells her she deserves this.

 

She doesn't visit the occult club after that.

 

  
“I'll never see my family again.”

“Stop it. Stop crying. _Stop it_.”

  
She never really understood family, much. Her mom only hurt her and her dad, after all, so she never got the appeal. When she said this in kindergarten, little naive her thinking that it wasn't a big deal, everyone stared at her incredulously.

_So you don't care about your mom?_ they asked, and when she said she didn't really know, they sneered the way only little kids do, with blinking eyes and daily reminders. She tried to make amends, rushing to say that it was ok, she had other people she cared about in place of her, _who? Oh, well, my ghosts!_

For the next four years her notebooks were thrown into the trash can and desk written on. That was when she started hating the ghosts looking over her shoulders.

She never really understood family.

 

“I'll never be on stage again….. this is your fault. This is all your fault.”

“Do you think I care?”

“Yes. I think you do.”

  
Ayano could spot a liar from a mile away, almost as if she could smell it on them. She recognized the signs as if they were second nature, too tight smile, too sociable, too normal.

_~~Too much like her~~._

It easy, for her, sense she doesn't care.

She doesn't.

Really.

  
“I’d help you clean the evidence- but oh wait, you killed me.”

 

She smiles at her reflection, again, decorated in a different shade her mom always wore. The blood splattered on her cheek, a melody of rust, looks wrong. It's to brown, not enough red, nothing like the bloody words spilling out of their mouths, it's not right, it's wrong, wrong, all _wrong_.

She hates her mom, so. She wonders why she let herself turn into her.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

The blood on her hands is easily removed with soap, and she thinks it's… something, she's not sure what, ironic, maybe, that it's so easily removed. As if nothing happened. As if these lives didn't matter, as if she mattered more. The ghosts are whispering in static, again, not quite legible, as she stares at her hands.

The bubbles mix with the red to create a pink. It's almost pretty. She feels like puking.

 

She doesn't know why she's doing this anymore.

 

The police catch her, and she doesn't even process, just staring at the pinkish bubbles on her hands.

  
“This was your own doing, you know.”

“…. I know.”

  
For some reason, as she's led away by the police, she smiles, a laugh blooming on her lips.

It's the first genuine smile they've seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Well, aren’t you going to kill them? They’d be a nice addition to the afterlife.” - osana
> 
> “I'll never see my family again.” -   
> Amai
> 
> “I'll never be on stage again….. this is your fault. This is all your fault.” / “Yes. I think you do.” - kizana
> 
> “I’d help you clean the evidence- but oh wait, you killed me.” - asu (not mentioned but totally a thing: asu is non binary)
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck you.” - osoro
> 
>  
> 
> "This was your own doing, you know.” - megumi


	2. Well no I don't feel lighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm all gone, all gone, all gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A defendant claiming the defense is pleading "not guilty by reason of insanity" (NGRI) or "guilty but insane or mentally ill" in some jurisdictions which, if successful, may result in the defendant being committed to a psychiatric facility for an indeterminate period."

“Ayano aishi, you're accused of the murders of akademy high, how do you pled?”

“Not guilty by reasons of insanity.”

She can't tell if it's a ghost or her own thoughts who scoffs, a _you knew exactly what you were doing,_ lingering unheard by most in the air.

 

  
She hates that word: insane. It rolls of her tongue like a curse in monotone, distasteful. It whittles down her trauma, her life, her very personality to that word, insane. That's what she is, to everyone, the crazy girl, unreasonable, can't take care of herself, don't get near her, she's dangerous, a freak, a freak; _insane_.

She hates that word almost as much as her own mistakes.

She says it, still, though, a blank look on her face as she stares out into the crowd. She wonders if her mom is watching.

 

“My mother, ryoba aishi, once sat up here and claimed to be innocent. She claimed to be a helpless school girl, without any blood on her hands. A lone journalist stood against her. He fell.”

 

  
It's osana’s family who suggests it, tears on their angry faces, cries of justice. Osana is mad, unheard shouts in her parents faces, _you didn't care when I was alive, why do you care now?!_

Osana, in middle school, once wrote a ten page essay on why she was against the death penalty.

The death penalty is now on the table.

They really didn't know their daughter, didn't know what she'd want, even in death. Ayano finds a new pit of hate in her.

 

 

  
“My mother lied.”

  
Everyone is in a uproar. She's the most talked about girl in the country, even outside, everyone knows her, _ayano, ayano._ Somehow, info-chan isn't accused of anything, no one even knowing who she was. The school has no records of an info club, every text and message she sent untraceable, and she's left everyone scratching their heads. It's like she didn't exist. They ask her if she knows who she is, and she says she never told. It's not a lie; _she_ never did, only the ghost of her father, the journalist.

  
Kokona visits her, tears in her eyes, as she asks her if it's true. She asks why she came to the roof when she put _domestic abuse_ in the letter, asks her why she lied about her dad crying.

Kokona is silent as she sobs, the world falling apart around her.

For a moment, there is so much ayano wants to say, she wants to comfort her, tell her that she understands, she's been through it, but she is silent. Kokona wouldn't want the sympathy of a killer, anyways.

 

“She killed those girls, and she was proud. She would whisper in my ear, about it, talking murder and love in the same breath.”

“Would you say that she coerced, or influenced you to murder?”

“In a way, yes.”

 

She remembers her mom with a smile on her face, combing her hair between her fingers. If there was no sound, like a muted tv, it would almost seem sweet, nice, a mother and a daughter bonding.

But if you looked at ayano's face, it would be blank, void, as if she was preparing for something, but didn't want to give her mom the satisfaction that she was.

And her mom, with a shining smile, lips coated with a blood red gleam, would whisper in her ears something so fowl, in the gentlest of voices, before taking the hair in her hand and _tugging_ ; tugging until tears formed in her ears and a cry flew from her lips. She would tut, saying that she needed to build up her pain tolerance, needed to hone her acting skills, that people out there would eat her like vultures, hurting and hurting her if she let them.

It was ironic, that even in the future, with prison guards and accusing eyes, her mom was still the one who hurt her the most.

 

“Objection! Objection your honor! Her mother was, and still is, halfway across the world! There's no way she could have influenced the defendant!”

  
Ayano never really understood how people couldn't see what was in front of them. Could they not see the strings of fate, twisting and turning, actions dominioing until people become what others make them? People, no matter what they say, are affected by others. That will always be the absolute truth of the matter; everything affects everything, and so on.

Some people call it the butterfly effect, as if it was something you could trap in a glass jar, a prison, and hold it to your chest. As if you could hold it in your hand and prevent it from flying ever again, tame it, ruin it. As if you could strip away it's very wings, little hands ripping away it's freedom.

She wonders if destiny is, in actuality, an illusion. She wonders if free will is, too. Ultimately, she decides neither is right; her actions are her own, even if the building blocks of others are what she walks upon—influenced, not controlled.

The person doesn't need to be there to coerced you, sometimes.

 

  
“How dare you. All my life I was groomed and abused, all my life was spent under her influence. _All my fucking life, and you dare say it didn't affect me?”_

Rage is a funny thing, before it was cooled, but now it bubbles up in her bones, and _burns_. There is something about it that makes her see red; snaps, struggling with all her might to surge forward, bearing her teeth in anger. She struggles in their grasp—that's funny, when did anyone grab her?—before it all goes black.

 

 

 

They find her guilty, despite it all.

Everyone is in a uproar, some coming to her defense, looks on their faces that say _she's not well, this is injustice._ The other half celebrates her imprisonment, believing her truth to be an act.

She doesn't really care.

 

Midori is on the news, sometime in it all.

“She was my friend.”

“I should have known.”

Ayano scoffs when she hears that, and the ghosts glare at her, before noticing her tears. Ayano blinks, confused why they're there, and the ghosts look at her in pity.

She hates it.

 

 

When ayano is found guilty of all charges, a girl across the nation, red glasses the same shade as her hair, sighs, wondering what she could have done different, wondering if this was the correct choice. She's been looking for her dad, recently, since he still hadn't returned, and her little experiment with ayano failed. She finds he's dead, dead by the foe he tried to prove guilty all those years ago, slain. She wonders what she's doing, what she's done, and continues forward.

There's a search warrant for ayanos mom, after all, and she’d be damned if the one who started this all goes free.

 

  
When the arrest is made, and the redhead is credited, ayano is watching, and smiles.

The ghosts who have been quiet speak once more, looking at this girl, the daughter of their killer, and they smile as well. Even though the cycle continued, it didn't, it changed. She has brought it to a close with her testimony.

“Thank you.”

They disappear.

 

 

 

 

Ayano goes down, but her mother comes with her.

It's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IVE FINISHED THIS,,, IVE FINISHED AFTER OVER TWENTY DAYS OF WAITING,, 
> 
> This was originally going to end happier whoops

**Author's Note:**

> Title(s) and summary(s) from the song all gone by mother mother


End file.
